Chapter 688
Xia'er stood before a pile of "shattered flesh," the dismembered bodies in her mind constantly reassembling and then breaking apart again.
It was as if she had scanned a model in her mind, rotating it endlessly, and soon, she began to notice some issues.
Indeed, some parts of the body were missing.
Although the corpse before her was already incomplete, within the remaining fragments, there were definitely some gaps—whether in muscle or bone.
These tiny, scattered voids throughout the body were difficult to detect, even for a high-level "Weaver."
The extraordinary traits had indeed vanished.
Was this corpse completely useless...?
Xia'er thought of a way.
She extended her hands and began to sift through the arranged pieces of flesh on the table. Before long, she had selected some fragments of bone, muscle, and skin.
One hand was stitched back together by Xia'er.
Now, her mental energy was weak; she might not be able to use the "Recorder" to read the brain or eyes of this fourth-tier extraordinary being... but the memory of a hand could still be accessed.
The ability of the "Recorder" allowed her to directly "read" the past contained within objects or texts.
For instance, during her first attempt, Xia'er had directly "read" the history of a ceramic cup from a street café, tracing its journey from purchase to creation, even to the moment it was unearthed.
And she could similarly trace the past of this hand.
Xia'er slowly reached out, placing her hand on the reassembled severed arm.
"Aivina, if I faint... then let me faint."
After leaving this sentence behind, a faint silver dial appeared in her right eye.
Buzz.
The ability of the "Recorder" was activated, and in an instant, the incomplete arm before Xia'er began to shatter rapidly, reassembling amidst a swirl of silver light.
Xia'er's perspective shifted to that of a hand.
It was a wondrous sensation, entirely different from "reading" the ceramic.
In addition to sight, she now had a sense of touch.
She saw herself standing before the Gate of the Otherworld, a scene that had just occurred.
But that image lasted only a moment; the next instant, she felt herself reaching toward a flame to burn a letter in front of an oil lamp... Xia'er could even feel the heat of the fire.
The letter being burned quickly began to restore itself, transforming from ashes into a complete letter that was handed to her.
It was a portrait, and the figure depicted was none other than Xia'er herself.
In the next moment, time leaped forward rapidly.
She felt herself gripping a dagger, slicing into her other arm, while layers of solemn oaths echoed in her ears.
She saw dozens of others, clad in black robes like herself, kneeling in place, reciting prayers that were chaotic and indistinct to her.
They were neither the languages of the present nor those of the past...
But in the next moment, a voice that Xia'er could understand rang out from ahead.
It was a language played in reverse, yet Xia'er could easily reorient the reversed sounds in her mind.
“(Spirit Language) Eric, why do you look up?”
It was the Spirit Language, a precise and beautiful tongue of the Tower.
At that moment, Xia'er was bowing her head, gazing at her right hand, beads of sweat from her forehead falling onto it. The memories she was tracing were all crucially tied to her hand.
The reversed voice had been a reminder not to look up at the one person still standing; if time continued to rewind, it would take her back to the moment she raised her head.
In her vision, she slowly lifted her gaze, her eyes passing over all the extraordinary beings, landing on the empty high platform above.
“(Spirit Language) Can you see me?”
Another reversed voice echoed, but in the next moment, Xia'er's mental pressure surged. If she continued to delve deeper into the memories, her mind could suffer irreversible damage.
Xia'er abruptly pulled her right hand away, stepping back two paces, and everything before her returned to normal.
She was back in the study, the lingering scent of blood and decay providing her with an inexplicable sense of reassurance.
‘Can you see me?’
Was that question directed at the corpse of Eric, or at herself?
But in the next moment, the answer appeared before Xia'er.
The pieces of flesh and bone on the table had already stained the surface a deep crimson, the blood now congealed into a dark brown.
Amidst this blood-red scene, some areas were being rapidly erased.
The blood and flesh were systematically disappearing, stroke by stroke, as if an invisible hand was writing something on the table.
Not just Xia'er, but Aivina and Tara beside her also witnessed this unfolding scene.
It was writing.
Xia'er quickly summoned her dwindling mental energy, but her "Keen" ability had already been pushed to its limits, leaving her unable to detect the presence of the other.
Even if the other party appeared right before her, Xia'er had lost any capacity to strike them down.
In this situation, Xia'er found herself surprisingly calm, focusing on the words written in Spirit Language on the table.
Stop struggling, Witch.
The birth of the God King is unstoppable.
He will prevent the destruction you bring to all worlds.
Oh?
A psychological battle, is it?
“(Spirit Language) Do you know what language you are writing in?” Xia'er asked, a smile creeping onto her face beneath her mask.
This was the language of the God King.
“Oh? Then you must be quite young.” Xia'er gently shook her head and continued, “If it were the God King himself, he would never dare to use Spirit Language in my presence.”
As soon as Xia'er finished speaking, the words being erased before her paused for a moment, lingering in silence for two or three seconds without any response.
“Spirit Language is the language of the Tower. From what you imply, at least one symbiote is within the Tower.” After a moment of thought, Xia'er added, “Perhaps it is the one who was supposed to bring the 'Cocoon of Light' back to the Tower...”
Xia'er's words plunged the other into another long silence, likely because they had not understood what she was saying.
They could not possibly have memories from before the Tower.
At that moment, Xia'er realized she had guessed correctly.
The other was a minion, a fanatic, but they might not have survived from the Old Days until now.
The Cataclysm was caused by them, but the Otherworld was not merely a disaster for the Ascenders; it was a mutual destruction, a table flipped by both the creators of the Otherworld and the instigators of the Cataclysm.
Thus, the original holder of the divine "Seed" must be trapped somewhere in the Otherworld, and even if they had not gone mad, their mind would surely be unstable.
And the minion before her?
They might have been taught the beautiful language of Spirit Language, but they did not understand its meaning.
Exceeding limits.
The art of conversation.
“Thank you for the information. Once I return to the past and pull that symbiote out, I will speak highly of you in front of them.”
Xia'er deliberately used honorifics, emphasizing the word "you." Her Level 5 "Art of Conversation" unleashed an unprecedented power, infusing her with the emotions she wished to convey.
She aimed to provoke the other.
Buzz.
A faint humming sound resonated.
A corner of the table before her was missing, and soon, another scratch appeared on the surface, drawing closer to Xia'er.
“Xia'er! Danger!” Aivina exclaimed, her eyes glowing with a purple aura.
Even though she could see nothing, she sensed the imminent threat.
Aivina used her ability to convey her voice completely to Xia'er. She didn’t know how to resolve the crisis before them, but she had to ensure that Xia'er remained alert and that her actions were not interrupted.
That was all she could do.
Yet Xia'er, with her "Precognitive Vision," felt no fear.
Xia'er stepped forward and said, “Do you... dare to kill me?”
The advancing scratch halted.
Clearly, the other party did not dare.
If Xia'er truly died, everything would reset, and even the existence of the minion would vanish. Killing Xia'er would mean killing themselves.
The already torn wooden table split further, the pieces of flesh tumbling to the ground.
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